2. Park Bench Confessions

PARK BENCH CONFESSIONS

R osie stood in front of her wardrobe, hands on hips, surveying the sea of beige, navy, and cream before her. Was this really all she owned? When had her closet become as exciting as a rice cake?

"Right," she muttered, pushing hangers aside with newfound determination. "There has to be something here that doesn't scream 'sensible grandmother'."

After what felt like an archaeological dig through layers of conservative cardigans and practical slacks, Rosie's hand brushed against something silky. She pulled it out, eyebrows rising at the sight of a leopard print blouse she'd forgotten she owned.

"Well, hello there," she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Where have you been hiding?"

Fifteen minutes later, Rosie appraised herself in the full-length mirror. The leopard print blouse, paired with black jeans she'd had to wiggle into (when did these get so tight?), and a pair of red ballet flats gave her an air of... what was the word? Sass? She nodded at her reflection. It would do.

As she headed out the door, Rosie caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror and faltered. Was this too much? Should she change back into something more... age-appropriate? The familiar voice in her head - the one that sounded suspiciously like her ex-husband Derek - whispered that she was being ridiculous.

Rosie squared her shoulders, fixing her reflection with a steely gaze. "Oh, hush," she told the imaginary Derek. "I'm sixty, not dead."

With that, she marched out the door, trying to channel the confidence of her blouse if not quite feeling it herself.

Rosie walked to Mary's house. It was a shorter stroll than Rosie had thought it would be…she was so used to driving that she'd forgotten how lovely it felt to walk. Certainly, the newfound spring in her step made the distance fly by. As she approached the familiar door, it swung open before she could knock, revealing a marginally less frazzled-looking Mary.

"Mum!" Mary's eyes widened as she took in Rosie's outfit. "You look... different."

Rosie felt her cheeks warm. "Good different or bad different?"

A slow smile spread across Mary's face. "Good different. Definitely good. You look great, Mum."

Before Rosie could respond, a shaggy blonde bullet shot out from behind Mary's legs. Elvis, apparently recognising his new walking companion, launched himself at Rosie with all the enthusiasm of a long-lost friend.

"Down, boy!" Rosie laughed, trying to fend off Elvis's enthusiastic greeting. "Save some of that energy for the park, why don't you?"

Mary handed over the leash, shaking her head in amazement. "I still can't believe you're doing this, Mum. Are you sure you're up for it?"

Rosie took the leash, giving Mary a reassuring pat on the arm. "Absolutely. Elvis and I have an understanding now, don't we, boy?" She looked down at the dog, who cocked his head and gave a small 'woof' in response.

"Well, good luck," Mary said, stifling a yawn. "I'm going to try and catch a quick nap while the twins are down."

As Rosie set off towards the park, she felt a curious mix of excitement and trepidation. Yesterday's walk had been a comedy of errors, but today... today she was prepared. Or so she thought.

Elvis trotted alongside her, mercifully calm compared to yesterday's escapades. As they entered the park, Rosie held her head high, pointedly ignoring the curious glances her leopard print blouse was attracting.

They made it halfway around the pond before Elvis decided it was time to liven things up. A flock of ducks caught his attention, and before Rosie could tighten her grip on the leash, he was off like a shot.

"Elvis, no!" Rosie yelped, stumbling after him. The ducks scattered in a flurry of indignant quacks, while Elvis barked joyfully, clearly thinking this was the best game ever.

Rosie's red ballet flats, it turned out, were not designed for impromptu duck chases. She felt her foot slide on the damp grass, and for the second time in as many days, she found herself heading for an unplanned meeting with the ground.

Just as she braced for impact, a strong hand gripped her arm, steadying her. "Whoa there! I've got you."

Rosie looked up into the amused face of a woman about her age, with dark blonde hair in a bob, with grey roots peeping through. She had laughter lines around her eyes and a big smile on her face. "That's some dog you've got there," the woman said, nodding towards Elvis, who was now prancing proudly among the retreating ducks.

"He's not mine, actually," Rosie said, straightening up and trying to salvage what was left of her dignity. "I'm dog-walking for my daughter. Or rather, dog-falling."

The woman laughed, a rich, throaty sound that immediately put Rosie at ease. "Well, you're in good company. Half the people here can't manage their dogs. I'm Emma, by the way."

"Rosie," she replied, shaking Emma's offered hand. "And the four-legged menace over there is Elvis."

"Elvis, eh?" Emma grinned. "Let's see if we can't coax him back. I've got just the thing." She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a dog treat. With a sharp whistle, she called, "Here, Elvis! Come and get it, boy!"

To Rosie's amazement, Elvis's ears perked up, and he came bounding over, all thoughts of ducks forgotten. He sat obediently at Emma's feet, looking up with adoring eyes as she handed him the treat.

"How did you do that?" Rosie asked, impressed.

Emma shrugged, giving Elvis a scratch behind the ears. "The secret to a man's heart is through his stomach. Turns out it works for dogs too." She glanced at Rosie's leopard print blouse and red shoes, a twinkle in her eye. "Love the outfit, by the way. It's nice to see someone embracing a bit of colour around here."

Rosie felt herself relax for the first time since leaving the house. "Thanks. I wasn't sure if it was too much, to be honest."

"Nonsense," Emma scoffed. "If you've got it, flaunt it. That's what I always say. Come on, why don't you join me and my friend Lisa? We were just about to have our morning coffee on that bench over there."

Rosie hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Why not? It wasn't as if she had a packed social calendar these days.

As they approached the bench, Rosie saw another woman about their age, elegantly dressed in a crisp white shirt and tailored trousers. She was tapping away on a sleek laptop, a furrow of concentration between her brows.

"Oi, Lisa!" Emma called out. "Pack that away, will you? We've got company."

Lisa looked up, pushing a pair of reading glasses onto her head. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in Rosie's outfit, but she smiled warmly. "Well, hello there. I do hope Emma hasn't been terrorising you. She has that effect on unsuspecting park-goers."

"Oi!" Emma protested good-naturedly, plopping down on the bench. "I'll have you know I just saved Rosie here from a nasty fall. Elvis was making a break for it."

"Elvis?" Lisa raised an eyebrow, looking around. "I don't see any... oh!" She laughed as the Cavapoo in question stuck his head out from behind Rosie's legs. "Hello, handsome."

As Rosie sat down, introducing herself properly, she felt a curious sense of ease settle over her. There was something refreshing about these women - Emma with her mischievous grin, Lisa with her polished appearance but kind eyes.

"So, Rosie," Lisa said, closing her laptop with a decisive click. "What brings you to our little corner of the park by the river? I don't think we've seen you here before."

Rosie launched into the tale of how she'd ended up as Elvis's reluctant dog walker, finding herself embellishing the story of yesterday's misadventures as Emma and Lisa dissolved into peals of laughter.

"Oh my," Lisa wiped a tear from her eye. "I haven't laughed like that in ages. Bless you, Rosie. We needed that."

"Speak for yourself," Emma chuckled. "I laugh all the time. Usually at Lisa when she's trying to be serious."

Lisa rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Someone has to be the adult here."

As the laughter subsided, Rosie found herself studying her new acquaintances. Despite their obvious differences, there was an easy camaraderie between them that made her feel a pang of... was it loneliness?

"So, do you two come here often?" Rosie asked, immediately cringing at how much it sounded like a pick-up line.

Emma snorted. "Every damn day. It's either this or staring at the four walls of my empty house. Divorced," she added, catching Rosie's questioning look. "You?"

"The same," Rosie nodded. "Well, separated. It's... complicated."

"Isn't it always?" Lisa sighed. "I'm in the same boat. William - that's my ex - he decided that after thirty years of marriage, he'd rather trade me in for a younger model. Apparently, I was getting too 'set in my ways'."

"Men," Emma scoffed. "Can't live with 'em, can't bury 'em in the back garden without awkward questions from the neighbours."

Rosie found herself laughing again, a weight she hadn't realised she'd been carrying starting to lift. "It's not easy, is it? Starting over at our age."

"Tell me about it," Emma groaned. "Do you know, I actually considered online dating the other day? Can you imagine? Me, trying to sum up sixty years of life in a little box, competing with women half my age who don't need industrial-strength support knickers."

Lisa nearly choked on her coffee. "Emma! You didn't!"

"I didn't," Emma admitted. "Came to my senses before I clicked 'submit'. But still, a woman has needs, you know?"

"Oh, I know," Rosie surprised herself by saying. "The other day, I caught myself eyeing up the young man delivering my groceries. I mean, really eyeing him up. I was mortified."

"Why?" Emma asked, genuinely puzzled. "Nothing wrong with window shopping, love. It's not like you tried to lure him in with promises of freshly baked cookies or anything."

"Although," Lisa mused, a wicked glint in her eye, "that's not a bad idea. I do make excellent chocolate chip cookies."

The three women looked at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter again.

"You know what the worst part is?" Lisa said, her tone turning contemplative. "It's not even the loneliness, really. It's feeling... invisible. Like the world has moved on and forgotten about you."

Emma nodded solemnly. "I know what you mean. The other day, I was in the supermarket, and this young thing asked if I needed help reaching something on the top shelf. I'm 5'10" for heaven's sake! I wanted to tell her I could not only reach the top shelf but probably bench press her skinny arse if I wanted to.She offered to help - and I know that's kind of her, but she offered because I'm old."

"But I bet you didn't say anything, did you?" Lisa asked.

"No," Emma sighed. "I just smiled and said no thank you. And then I went home and ate an entire tub of ice cream."

Rosie felt a lump form in her throat. "I thought it was just me," she said quietly. "Feeling... obsolete."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by Elvis's contented snoring at their feet.

Then Emma straightened up, a determined look on her face. "Right, that's enough of that. We're not obsolete, we're... vintage. Like a fine wine. Or a classic car."

"Or a well-aged cheese?" Lisa suggested with a smirk.

"Exactly!" Emma exclaimed. "We're not over the hill, we're just getting started. Who says we can't have adventures? Who says we can't turn heads?"

Rosie found herself nodding, caught up in Emma's enthusiasm. "You're right. We're not dead yet."

"That's the spirit!" Emma beamed. "Now, what do you say we make this a regular thing? Same time tomorrow? We can swap stories, complain about our aches and pains, ogle the young fathers pushing prams..."

"Emma!" Lisa admonished, but she was smiling.

Rosie hesitated for a moment, then nodded decisively. "I'd like that. Very much."

As they exchanged phone numbers and made plans to meet for coffee the next day, Rosie felt a spark of excitement. Maybe this dog-walking gig wasn't such a bad idea after all.

When it was time to leave, Rosie stood up, giving Elvis's leash a gentle tug. To her surprise, he got up without protest, looking up at her with what she could have sworn was a smug expression.

"I think Elvis here might be a good luck charm," Emma observed. "Bringing people together and all that."

Rosie laughed, reaching down to give Elvis a pat. "Maybe you're right. Though I'm not sure Mary would agree after all those sleepless nights."

As she said her goodbyes and started to walk away, Lisa called out, "Oh, and Rosie? Wear that blouse again tomorrow. It suits you."

Rosie felt a warm glow of pleasure as she waved goodbye. She was looking forward to tomorrow. Who knew what adventures it might bring? After all, she was sixty, sassy, and apparently, just getting started.